


Blood in the Water

by Beastlybfs



Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: F/M, Human Trafficking, Prostitution, Slow Burn, im sorry I’m trash for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastlybfs/pseuds/Beastlybfs
Summary: When a young mermaid’s suspicious death is swept under the rug by the LAPD, Jakoby’s growing personal involvement in the case pulls him and Ward into the depths of an organised crime ring and the grim black market it operates.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reference for Ginger’s appearance by the fab Phantart: [here](http://phantart.tumblr.com/post/170239174731/purplebeards-mermaid-babe-ginger-i-love-this)

LA was busier than the busiest shell-town and Millie didn’t like it. She’d spent all fourteen of her years living on the Florida coast in a town built on the foundation of environmental friendliness. Past the smell of local tourist restaurants there was always fresh air carried in from the sea; crisp bracing winds and water thick with salt and seaweed. On the hottest and most humid days you could still smell the sea. Even when the seaweed rotted on the shore in piles of green sludge, that reek of iodine was still preferable to whatever it was that Los Angeles smelled of.

Still, it had to be worth it; had to be a fog that lifted from the senses eventually. Half of all mermaids who left the shell-towns would end up settling in Los Angeles, but there were no communities. Millie couldn’t understand how any of her people could settle without a community and she would be glad when this fortnight was over. Trust her to pull the short straw and be the one who gets to go on ‘vacation’. Why couldn’t her aunts just come back home to Florida for a vacation?

Adjusting her backpack, Millie marched down the busy street with her suitcase rolling behind her. It caught on kerbs and food carts on the tiny, poorly-maintained sidewalk and if the alleyways weren’t all so dark and foreboding Millie might have disappeared down one to get a break from the crowd. But she wouldn’t dare, and instead continued to trudge down the street with her fuse shortening with every stumble or trip. At one point a wheel on her suitcase locked as it hit a raised section of sidewalk, and even when Millie yanked it free the stupid thing wouldn’t roll any more. She cursed under her breath and tugged at the suitcase, spotting several humans as they walked past her, smirking. Millie was a siren and unlike her ‘true’ mermaid cousins, she did not blend in with humans. The black hair with its waxy sheen; the grey-white skin; the dark black eyes and the webbed hands - it all screamed _different_. She’d have opened her mouth and bared her triangular teeth but the humans were gone and she didn’t dare look at any more who passed by in case they made her watering eyes spill over. Millie flinched when she felt a figure next to her, looking up to find the scowling face of an orc. He wore a hi-vis jacket and a hardhat, and said nothing as he braced a foot against the jammed suitcase wheel and lifted the case, forcing the wheel to turn under his heavy boot. He handed it back to Millie and she wasn’t sure if he had smiled at her on account of those unfamiliar tusks, but he gave her an unnervingly strong pat on the back before continuing on his way. Hopefully he had heard her squeak out a ‘thank you’.

As she reached the end of the street, Millie paused and huffed as she dug through her coat pockets to find a flyer. As she opened the crumpled wad of paper and read it again, Millie turned to look around for the right place. Of course it was on the other side of the street. Sweating under her coat, Millie soldiered on and found a crosswalk to take her across the street. Finally, she was here. The familiar colour scheme of burgundy accented with chocolate brown and orange swirls, just like the little salon her aunts had run back home out of their kitchen, stood brighter than any store next to it. _Sugar & Spice Salon_. This place was much more grand than its predecessor back home; it was an entire salon that had its own shop floor (and the upstairs apartment, apparently). The young siren pushed her fine hair out of her face, pocketed the flyer and hauled her suitcase along as she pushed the salon door open.

The place was busy, which at her age Millie knew was a good thing - lots of customers meant lots of money. To her left was a row of hairdressing seats, all of them filled with women reading magazines while their hair sat in rollers and foils. One of them looked up at Millie and blinked a white set of nictitating membranes from under wide open eyelids. Millie stared back and gulped, clasping the handle of her suitcase before scanning the room for a more familiar face. She saw the back of her aunt Ginger’s head; long thick wavess of red hair tied back loosely as she worked on a client. But before the child could call out to her, someone else equally familiar had spotted her.  
“Millie!”  
“Aunt Cindi!” The girl exclaimed, standing on tiptoes to better hug the woman who had slammed her scissors down and come marching across the salon floor to almost scoop her up.  
“You got so tall, honey!”  
“I’m the same height as I was before you left.” Millie laughed, staring up into her aunt’s eyes, admiring the bright blue colour swirling through her sclera. The colour was always so vivid in Cindi, standing out against her dark brown skin.  
“Well you look taller. You look good, was the flight okay?”  
“Boring and long. Everyone stared at me.”  
“Humans are weird like that out here, you gotta learn to ignore it. Hey, you want you hair done? I got the curlers heating up but the lady cancelled.” Cindi shook her own head of long and tight curls with a grin, a tiny white shell clipped into a short braid jingling in her face. Millie’s face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically.  
“Yes please!”  
“Okay, why don’t you go bother your aunt Ginger while I finish up with a quick walk-in? Put your stuff by the door, baby.”

Millie nodded, dropping her backpack and suitcase by the doorway as she wandered over towards Ginger, who had picked up on the commotion and turned to grin at her niece from behind her own mess of red curls. Ginger looked an even paler white now that she was away from Florida, and it brought out the light spattering of freckles that usually hid in her complexion. The blue in her eyes was faded, suggesting stress or illness.  
“There you are my little minnow, get over here!” She cried, hugging the girl tight before pulling a spare salon chair out for the girl to sit in. “Sit, sit. How was your flight?”  
“Took ages, humans stared a lot. It smells funny out here too.”  
“Welcome to LA. You get used to it. Is school still good back home?”  
“Yeah, I started swimming deeper than before. Mom said I’m ready to go out alone.”  
“I think she’s right, you’re getting big! Be as tall as your mom before you know it.” Ginger teased as she went back to laying a woman’s hair in foils, smearing foul-smelling cream onto the parts she was sectioning.  
“What’re you doing?” Millie asked, grimacing at the smell.  
“Bleaching it. Human hair always looks so good with different colours though it, I think.” Ginger smiled into the mirror, at the young woman whose hair she was bleaching. “Don’t you ever go doing it to your hair though, Millie. You’ve got that smooth, dark hair that women would kill for.”  
“Cindi said she would curl it. Is hair all you do here? Mom said you did beauty stuff too...”  
“We do, yeah. I’ve got a lady waiting over there to get her tusks sharpened in a minute. You see many orcs on your way over?”  
“Loads.” Millie thought about the one who had helped her and smiled over at the bald, green-and-peach mottled woman waiting in a chair. The woman smiled back, baring tusks that were uneven in size and (somehow) pierced on one side.  
“We do all sorts for orcs, since they don’t have hair. If they get one knocked off I can put fake ones on. Pierce them, glue rings on them. I pierce ears now too, and I’d offer you some but I think your mom might come out here herself and kill me with the needle gun if I did!”  
“She says I can get them pierced when I turn sixteen! That’s only two years away. Dad bought me clip-ons for the summer festival though.”  
“Mhm, and hows your mom and dad doing?”  
“Dad just got married again, I think he’s done at four wives now.”  
“I think I’d be done at one.” Ginger scoffed, finishing the last foil and peeling her gloves off. “Why don’t I grab you something to eat while you wait on Cindi?”  
“No thank you, I have to take my bags to the hotel and then uncle Red is coming to pick me up for dinner.”  
“Good, good. I’m glad Red is stepping up and helping look after family for once. You gonna come by here tomorrow though, aren’t you? We shut early, we’ll take you out somewhere.”  
“Of course, auntie-” Millie jumped from her seat as Cindi shouted over to her.  
“Millie! Get on over here before I burn my hands on these rollers!”


	2. Chapter 2

Late shifts were, in Nick Jakoby’s opinion, always the worst shifts. Everyone complained when they had one; you rarely had a full morning to get things done but could never sleep late enough to feel rested, and the shift always dragged. Of course, the bitching and moaning from colleagues with maybe five late shifts per month was only salt in the wound for Nick. Blame it on rank or race, but either way he always got saddled with many more of those shifts. Daryl didn’t seem to mind that being the only orc cop’s partner meant he got these shifts more - or at least he didn’t openly complain. One day it would get better, Nick told himself. His existence, his medals, and his hard work on the force would eventually make a difference. Things would change - just not overnight.  
Their shift had just started in an afternoon that would drag typically through into the early hours of tomorrow morning, and the only benefit of starting at this time was getting to grab food before starting their patrol.

“Man, I don’t know what he’s got against me but Louis always gives me less cheese in my sandwich than he does in yours.” Daryl grumbled, slouching back in the passenger seat to inspect what remained of his early dinner.  
“That ain’t true and you know it.” Nick snorted, side-eyeing the man.  
“Yes it is! Yours is always overflowing with the damn stuff and mine ain’t. Your weird soy-cheese should cost more anyway, how can he afford to give you that much? Gives me plenty of that soggy-ass salad though.”  
“Maybe he’s lookin’ our for your health, Ward. Someone’s gotta, human hearts can be pretty weak.”  
“Well, mine ain’t.” Daryl slapped his chest theatrically. “But hey, maybe I should be glad. You eat all that cheese and fatten up, I might be able to start outrunnin’ you. That damn... _orcish_ adrenaline-rush-rage you get is insane. Thought orcs were supposed to be slow.”  
“Fat chance you’ll ever outrun me, Ward.” Nick grinned, resting his hand on the steering wheel as he crumpled the now empty wrapper of his sandwich. This was nice. They were able to do this more nowadays; to rib each other and joke around. Daryl actually seemed to like Nick now.  
“Yeah, a fat chance is what I’m betting on.”

The two laughed as Nick finished his drink (bottled water, which Daryl would make fun of later when he was finished with his soda) and started the cruiser up again. Nick mused on the feeling in his gut that tonight might be a quiet and routine night for once. Of course, with the formation of this thought, he had jinxed it.

The first intersection they stopped at, Nick’s ears flinched at the not-too-distant sound of a woman’s scream. A stocky, noticeably (and to Nick, disappointingly) green figure was racing away from a woman who promptly screamed “my bag!”, brandishing the broken spaghetti strap of her handbag. Straight out of a goddamn cartoon. The guy had too much of a head start for pursuit on foot so Nick flipped the lights and sirens on, jumping the intersection lights. The thief ran down the sidewalk next to them and Daryl called in a 488 on the police scanner as he unclipped his seatbelt.  
“Get ahead of him, he’s gonna take that alley up ahead. I’ll jump out.” Daryl ordered.  
“I’ll try to cut him off round the corner if you’re going on foot.” Nick said, putting his foot down to get ahead of their surprisingly spry target. To no one’s surprise, the guy turned down the alley and Nick was already ahead, brakes slamming so Daryl could leap out of the car. “See if you can’t be faster than an orc now, Ward.” Nick barked as his partner threw the door open, placed one hand at his holster and sprinted down the alley.

“Police, stop!” Daryl bellowed, sidestepping a trash can and hopping over wet newspapers to try and catch up with the orc. With a few exceptions (one of which being Nick) orcs were heavy, slow and graceless; any LAPD cop should be able to keep up with an orc in a fair race. Except out here on this urban obstacle course, the race _wasn’t_ fair. “Man, I said stop!” Daryl shouted again, reluctant to draw his weapon and escalate a petty theft. The orc was still ahead but slowing down already; they were creatures of endurance, not speed, and he couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer. He looked over his shoulder at Daryl and then suddenly tripped, _hard_. A pile of blankets in the middle of the alley had caught his feet now and nearly 300lbs of green dickhead suddenly ragdolled, flying forward and slamming against the dirty concrete. Even Daryl had to wince on the guy’s behalf as he skidded to a stop near him. Before the orc could regain his senses and stand up, Nick came screeching to a halt at the end of the alley with lights and sirens still going. He’d managed it pretty tight, and no one was getting out through the gap. The handbag has been dropped and spilled all over the ground beside the orc, who looked up with a bloodied and scraped face to find Nick ready with handcuffs.  
“Hands behind your head, _sir_.” Nick said, pursing his lips as he went through the motions and cuffed the larger man. Daryl tapped a smashed makeup compact with his boot and reached for his radio to report a suspect in custody when he turned to look at the lump of blankets that had tripped the orc up. They’d likely been dumped by some homeless guy because of how wet they were - fuck knows what kind of nasty mess had been made in them. Daryl stood over the pile and considered, for a moment, putting some gloves on and finding a dumpster to throw the blankets in so they weren’t festering in the alley. He touched his boot to the pile, and found it way too solid to be _just_ blankets. Grimacing, Daryl crouched and lifted a dry corner of the blanket.

His gut twisted as he saw fingers protruding from under the fabric, and in a split second of panic Daryl whipped the blankets back to reveal a body - pale white and ice cold. A kid. A fucking kid, laying dead in the middle of an alleyway right next to a busy street. The fingers were webbed and caked in blood, and the first person to vocalise their horror was the handcuffed thief, who cursed aloud as Nick tried to shove him into the police vehicle even faster. Daryl glared over at Nick as he found his radio at his belt. “488 suspect apprehended, but we got a 10-54 out here too.”

* * *

 

Backup arrived before homicide even responded to a request for their attendance. Nick had found himself pushed aside by other officers and for once he was okay with this, leaning against a wall in the alley and watching grim-faced as the body was marked and photographed by forensics. It felt disrespectful to stare but he couldn’t stop; couldn’t take his eyes off the body.  
She was young, barely into her teens. One side of her head was...open, and was the source of a thick puddle of dark blood that had collected under her and seeped into the blankets she was wrapped in. Someone had hit her _hard_ and left her to bleed to death out here. It sucked. This _sucked_. Beyond the fact that a child was dead, Nick has other reasons to find this upsetting. The girl was a siren - a type of mermaid - and clearly from out of town. Nick knew more than anyone that she was about to disappear into the system. Homicide was prioritising human or elf murders so much that they weren’t even attending the fucking scene, but of course paperwork would say otherwise. None of the detectives would care because there was no pressure on them to solve a case like this; none of them would care, personally, about a mermaid just like they wouldn’t care about an orc in this situation. They hadn’t cared in the past and they wouldn’t now. While he did his best to not let discrimination get to him, there was a limit even to Nick’s incredibly high tolerance for discrimination. Nick watched a forensics officer, named Parker, pause and look at something under the victim before lifting his head to speak to Daryl.  
“She’s got a flyer here for some salon I recognise. Mermaid owned. You think this is some sorta...fish turf war?”  
“You think some hairstylists killed a kid?” Daryl scoffed, turning his head away. “Kids don’t get caught up in those sorta turf wars. There’s no mermaid turf for them to fight over out here.”  
“Then maybe they know her.” Parker squinted at the crumpled flyer, trying to peer past it into the backpack that the victim was laying on. He took his photos in silence again while Daryl chewed his tongue. Nick pushed himself away from the wall he was sulking against and came to stop next to Parker, hands at his hips.  
“It’s homicide’s business now, not ours. We prep the scene, wait for them, and let them do their detective shit.” Daryl continued, annoyed that some kid from forensics was trying to play detective with him.   
“That’s if they even feel like showing up to a non-human body.” Nick grumbled, earning himself a defensive glare from Parker. He should’ve known better; should’ve watched his tongue. The glare was sustained and Nick became predictably avoidant, turning his head to look away at the ground elsewhere.

The radio at Daryl’s hip crackled to life and he spoke into it while Nick’s gaze drifted back and focused more on the body again. The webbing of her fingers had ripped on one hand and she wore several bruises on her face. Bruises took time to form; she’d either died slowly out here, or had been beaten some time before being killed. Either way, he figured she’d suffered and the realisation twisted his gut.  
“Parker, you get that?” Daryl said, catching Nick’s attention with a visible flick of the ears.  
“Yeah, we got it.”  
“Okay, let’s go Jakoby, these guys are holding the fort until homicide get here. We got a patrol to finish, apparently.” Daryl was already wandering back to the car, wide-legged and limping. Nick followed slowly after one last remorseful glance at the body, hands still stuck at his hips. Of course they wanted the diversity hire gone from a crime scene like this.   
“You’re walking funny, Ward. You pull a muscle?” He asked as he turned to look at his partner.   
“Yeah man, and I’m about to pull one right in your face if you don’t stop staring at that thing and get in the car.” He clapped back and while Nick might’ve furthered the banter on most days, he didn’t feel like it today and instead did as he was told, falling silent as he slid into his seat. Even Daryl called her a _thing_. Once both men were settled in the cruiser, Daryl began to pick up on his partner’s discomfort and sour mood. “That the first body you’ve seen?” He asked, watching the orc’s face for a telling reaction. Nick’s ears flicked a few times anxiously.  
“First kid.” Nick said, turning his head away to look down the street he was pulling into.  
“It gets easier. You learn to deal with it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, Nick was wrong; late shifts weren’t the worst. Early shifts directly _after_ a late one were the worst. Even with melatonin supplements and a pretty strict nighttime routine, Nick struggled to get enough sleep on this shift pattern and he was feeling today it as he sat in the briefing room, twiddling his thumbs in tired silence. Still, tired as he was, Nick kept at least a hint of a smile on his face as people spoke to him. Medals hadn’t stopped the child-like teasing from most officers but there was not much that could stop Nick from putting up with it, least of all a little tiredness. Hell, half of the teasing still went over his head if he didn’t really pay attention to what was being said. No matter what, he was good and polite to everyone who interacted with him. Kindness repays with kindness eventually. It had to.

Nick listened intently as ever to the allocation of patrol divisions, growing nervous as officers filtered out with their orders until only he and Daryl were left behind. The captain pursed his lips as he waited for the last few stragglers to leave, and then he set his eyes on Daryl.  
“You two aren’t on patrol. Homicide is swamped and want you two to follow up on the body you found yesterday and take statements. There’s some mermaids we need you to speak with.” He handed Daryl a copy of the case files, glancing at Nick. “I think they’re hoping that you can take advantage of the good relationship orcs and mermaids have.”  
“I guess I can try.” Nick said warily, reaching out to take the file from Daryl with an anxious twitch in his ears. Unsurprisingly the address was for the salon from the victim’s flyer yesterday.  
“Get suited up as usual. I don’t know how long this’ll take but you’re still on call in emergencies and I want you back on the street as soon as you’re done.”  
“Easy enough. Ask a few questions, haul their scaly asses in if they don’t cooperate.” Daryl shrugged, making to leave the room. He was followed into the hallway by a bewildered Nick who apparently couldn’t resist the urge to respond.  
“Pretty sure mermaids don’t have scales unless they’re in the water...”

* * *

 

Rare was it that you could find street parking in the morning, but today was a rare day already as far as Nick was concerned.

As Daryl slammed the cruiser door shut and tucked his sunglasses away, he gave Nick a questioning look.  
“You think you can get ‘em to open up?”  
“Hell if I know. I don’t think I’ve spoken to a mermaid _once_ in the last year. Plus, any good relationship between orcs and mermaids isn’t a privilege an orc _cop_ gets to experience all that often.”  
“Man, why the fuck are we here if you can’t-”  
“Ask whoever assumed I could do it! Not my fault they use me for every vaguely diversity-related incident.”  
“Hm. Guess we just gotta get this over with.” Daryl grunted, hands at his hips. “Try not to make eye contact too long, yeah?”  
“Actually, that’s considered racist and rude to mermaids. They don’t go around hypnotising willy-nilly.” Nick said in a hushed tone, approaching the door. It was locked, a ‘closed’ sign at eye level. Their usual opening hours were stated underneath and today they didn’t open until 10am. Nick rapped his fist against the glass, grinding his teeth.  
“Bet you’re teacher’s pet at diversity training.” Daryl muttered.  
“I do pretty well, yeah.” Nick said as he tipped his head back to look up at the apartment above the salon. He saw a curtain move briefly, and waited a moment before knocking on the glass door a little harder.  
“Who isn’t up at 9am?” Daryl huffed, hooking his thumbs on his belt. Through the door, Nick eventually saw a figure come running down the stairs and through the salon towards the door, key in hand. She seemed dressed for the day but had clearly been caught while doing her makeup, blue shadow painted onto only one of her eyelids.  
“What?” Was her initial greeting, careful to hold the door open wide enough for her to peer out and not an inch more.  
“Ma’am, we’d like to speak with a...” Nick retrieved his notepad from a pocket and flipped it open, checking the names he’d copied from the file. “...with a Cindi and Genevieve Moreau. _Moreau_.” He grimaced, adding “Not sure I’m saying that right.”  
“Close enough. I’m the former, latter is upstairs.” The woman huffed, gripping the door frame tight. She didn’t want to give those names away, Nick could tell. But you had to balance out how resistant you were to cops if you wanted them to, you know, not treat you like shit. “What do you wanna talk about? I don’t have to let you in without a warrant. We’re all paid up and legal here, no matter what the neighbours say.”  
“We’re here to ask you some questions about someone you might know. A...” he checked his notepad again, “...Millicent Durand. You know her?”  
“She’s my niece. Is she in trouble?”  
“Do you mind if we come in, ma’am?” Nick didn’t want to give the bad news here on the street.  
“Not until you tell me why you want in.”  
“Ma’am.” Daryl stepped forward, biting his lower lip. “A body was found yesterday afternoon, identified as Miss Durand. Attempts to contact any legal guardians have gone to voicemail, and your flyer was found on the body.”  
“B-body.” Cindi echoed, her face falling. The colour drained from her cheeks and she looked nearly grey. “Millie’s dead?”  
“Afraid so.”

Cindi seemed to momentarily seize up like a jammed machine before she looked up at the men, stood back and held the door open.  
“Come in...” she spoke softly, closing and locking the door behind the officers. “I need to go get Ginger, can...can you wait?” She gestured up to the apartment above them and Nick gave her a quiet ‘of course’, pursing his lips as he watched the woman do her best to hold back tears. She turned and hurried across the salon, then up the stairs that led to her apartment.   
“She didn’t seem all that upset.” Daryl grumbled, glancing around the salon.  
“She was. Could almost smell the vomit she was holding back. Some people freeze up when they get bad news, y’know?”  
“I guess. How can you smell anything over all this?” Daryl gestured around him. “Even I feel kinda sick with all the chemical and perfume stink in here.”  
“I’m used to differentiating between different smells. But...yeah, the smell is strong in here. Bleach or whatever they use-”

The two men flinched as they heard a scream upstairs; it was a shrill shriek and Daryl had to outstretch his hand and stop Nick from rushing towards the staircase. Predictably, the scream bled quickly into sobbing, and Nick drummed his fingers against his belt anxiously as they waited out the wailing. It went against Nick’s nature to stand by and not help, but there wasn’t much he could do or say to help dull the pain that this sort of news brought someone. Well, there was nothing he could do or say in his capacity as a cop, anyway. After the longest minute of his life, Nick saw both women coming downstairs. Cindi hadn’t held her tears back very well and the woman behind her (he presumed that she was Genevieve) had done an even poorer job of holding back. You’d be forgiven for never thinking the two women were sisters. Where Cindi was dark in both complexion and hair, the woman listed as her sister in their file was the complete opposite. Her skin tone was pale and peachy, and she wore long ginger hair in thick waves and ringlets. Bright, teary blue eyes caught Jakoby’s orange ones and he felt like a hand had clamped down around his stomach, twisting it. You didn’t have to give this kind of bad news and deal with the fallout every day as a street cop, and he wasn’t as experienced or prepared for this as he thought. Maybe he never would be. Fortunately, Daryl seemed to have a script in his mind for this sort of situation.  
“We’re sorry for your loss, ladies. We’re gonna do the best we can to find out what happened but to do that, we need to ask you some questions.” His tone was soft and uncharacteristically kind for Daryl; maybe this was the voice he used with his daughter. Both the women nodded silently, although the redhead seemed to be grinding her teeth. Her nostrils flared as Nick spoke to her.  
“I’m, uh, guessing you’re Genevieve, ma’am?”  
“I go by Ginger.” She spoke to Nick’s boots as she bit her lower lip and sniffled. Then, as her eyes welled up again the woman shifted into anger in a flash, baring her fangs. “She was with us _yesterday_ , I don’t get how this could’ve happened.”  
“That’s what we’re hoping to find out-”  
“You told Cindi this happened yesterday afternoon. So why are we only hearing about this now, a day later?” Ginger’s tone became increasingly distressed and angry, which inevitably began to raise Daryl’s hackles.  
“You’re not listed as her guardians.” He said before Nick could respond. “According to records, the department tried contacting a man named on a tag attached to her backpack but they had no answer. Parents were attempted too...”  
“ _Red_. Red was supposed to have her! Did he even pick her up?! I’m calling him, the fucker can dodge calls from the cops but not from me.”  
“Ginger, no-” Cindi tried to stop her sister, taking her by the arm.  
“Don’t even try. I’ve been calling Red out for his shit for _years_ , I bet his drunk ass forgot to go pick her up and she-”  
“You don’t know that Ginger! Come back!” Cindi watched her sister storm upstairs again and then turned to both men, exasperated.  
“I’m sorry, she’s...she’s just angry.”  
“It’s a normal reaction.” Daryl shrugged, presenting as remarkably calm. “We do need to ask those questions though, do you mind if we ask you first and then maybe we talk to your sister afterwards?”  
“Yeah, that’s fine. I need to sit down, though.” Cindi lowered herself into a salon chair and ran her hands through her thick curls, taking a deep and shaky breath.

Nick had his trusty notepad out again but left the question asking to Daryl, opting to scribe as Daryl and Cindi talked.   
“Where were you at approximately noon yesterday?” Daryl asked, stony faced as he stared down at his notepad for no discernible reason. Nick quickly realised that Daryl’s discomfort was because he didn’t want to look at the mermaid. Or more specifically, didn’t want to look her in the eye.  
“Here, working. Both of us were.”  
“Anyone able to corroborate that?”  
“Our customers. We have a camera too...” Cindi pointed at a small camera positioned in one corner of the room. “It only watches the doorway but we must walk across that area ten times an hour. You’ll see Millie on it in the morning when she came by, too.”  
“Okay, that’s good. We’ll want that footage. Exactly what time-”  
“ _Red! Red, pick up! Pick up your damn phone you asshole!_ ” Ginger’s voice carried down from upstairs and interrupted Daryl, who paused and waited for the shouting and pacing to end. He blinked, relaxed his raised brow and continued.  
“Exactly what time did Miss Durand visit you yesterday?”  
“Um, it must’ve been around nine thirty, we opened early but I’d just had a cancellation when she came in. I think she...got a taxi from the airport on her own.”  
“And she’d flown in that morning?”  
“Yes, from F-”  
“ _Guess who! Answer your fucking phone Red! If I go to voicemail one more time I’m gonna come over there myself. Pick up!_ ”  
“...From Florida. She stayed with us for about an hour and then left to go meet her uncle Red. I’d just done her hair...”  
“This ‘Red’ guy, he a sibling of yours too?” Nick interjected, eyes to the ceiling as he heard cursing.  
“No. The community raises children in shell-towns, everyone is your aunt or uncle. We aren’t her or Red’s blood relatives.”  
“Alright. Can you think of anyone either here or back home who might want to harm Millie?”  
“No, no. She was a sweet kid, never liked to break the rules. Couldn’t even talk back to an adult without immediately apologising.”  
“What about Red?”  
“He’s a bit of a deadbeat but he never hurt anybody, I don’t think he’d get involved in anything this bad. He honestly probably just forgot he was supposed to pick her up.”

Ginger came down the stairs again, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.  
“I’m going over there-”  
“Strongly suggest you do not do that, ma’am. We have his address, we’ll call around.” Daryl held a hand up, visibly losing his patience. Still, he wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Now I’m gonna need you to sit down and answer some questions too, then it’s done.”  
“Well, actually...” Nick stepped in, his tone soft. He looked from one woman to the other, making an effort to hold eye contact. “Someone still needs to come in and formally identify the body...”

Fresh tears from both of the mermaids put Daryl in an even poorer mood but he seemed to understand things, deep down. That had to be why his displeased glares were thrown Nick’s way instead of at the women. Plus, Nick was right, and it had to be done. The sooner it was done, the easier the case could progress.  
“If we just get these questions out of the way, we can direct you to the station and get everything in order.” Daryl said, tapping his pen anxiously against his notepad.  
“Why?” Ginger blurted out, wiping at her flushed, wet cheeks with open palms. “What’s the point? What’re you going to actually do about this?” She didn’t sound angry any more; now she sounded...defeated. It put rocks in Nick’s chest, making his heart sink. “You’re gonna go through the motions and fill out your paperwork and then it’ll get shelved. You’re here wasting your time. No one is going to make any effort to solve a mermaid’s murder, they barely bother with human kids unless they’re white and middle class. What about that orc boy who was _shot_ a few months ago? Y’all closed that case pretty fucking fast, don’t you think?” She pointed at Nick, who felt his shoulders tense slightly.  
“Ma’am-” Nick wanted to commiserate. Oh God, how he wanted to commiserate with this.  
“What are you actually gonna do? What _can_ you do? None of them will care about this.”  
“I cared very much about that boy getting shot. I cared a lot about him and the justice he _needed_.” Nick’s tone was sharp for a second, and he paused to collect himself and remember that this woman was grieving...and right. She was right about the system he worked for, but couldn’t criticise in uniform. Ultimately, he had to keep faith in it too. “And I care about a dead little girl getting justice now, too. But I can’t help that happen if we don’t go through these motions, meaningless or not.” He said, giving her a look that he hoped could communicate even a shred of how much he agreed with her deep down.  
“He’s right, Ginger. We might as well help.” Cindi sighed, whispering to her in a language that neither man understood. Whatever she’d said appeared to convince her sister anyway.   
“ _Sa, sa._ Okay.” Ginger nodded her head and switched back to English as she waved her sister off. “Fine. Ask your questions. And at least take our contact details down so you guys have someone to call if you still can’t get hold of Red or her parents.”

Both men breathed an audible sigh of relief, readying those all-important notepads once again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Once all their questions had been answered, Nick and Daryl sent the women to the station, where an officer would be waiting to direct them to the morgue. It was like one mini funeral procession as they followed the women out of the salon and watched them walk down the street to their car. Nick hadn’t taken their doubt in him or the system personally but he wished he’d been there out of uniform so he could tell them just how much he feared the outcome that Ginger so furiously predicted.

Their next stop was an apartment way-too-many blocks away for Millie to walk on her own as a tourist. Her uncle Red was supposed to pick her up two blocks away from the salon but none of the businesses there had cameras to verify if he’d shown up. So, his listed residence was the logical next step. Red lived in a grotty, tired apartment building that reeked of about five distinctly different but equally unpleasant smells. Piss, booze, skunk and God-knows what else all assaulted Nick’s heightened senses and he grimaced as they walked through the halls.

“Are all those crime shows lying or is this _really_ not our job? Thought this was what detectives do.” Daryl sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  
“It’s easy work at least. We don’t have any fights to break up or perps to chase.” Nick shrugged in his usual ‘always a bright side’ manner, even if he was having to force it a little now. When they reached the right door and Daryl started knocking, Nick became...distracted. There was another smell now; weaker than everything else in the air but impossible to miss or ignore. It was coming from the apartment, and Nick’s boots shuffled on the dirty hardwood floor as he turned to face his partner. “Blood, Ward. I can smell blood.” He said. Daryl had knocked on the door and called out twice already.  
“You sure? Double check.” He moved back and allowed Nick to step up to the door and inhale again, nostrils flaring. “You gotta be sure, higher-ups won’t take your sense of smell as probable cause unless we really find something.”  
“I know, I know.” Nick waved him off, frowning as he continued to hone in on the scent. “I can definitely smell blood in there. It’s not strong out here but it’s absolutely coming from in there. You can’t mistake blood for anything else-”  
“Okay. Go ahead and do your big orc thing, then.” Daryl theatrically waved a hand towards the door, then drew his gun and called out again. “Sir, this is the police. If you don’t open up right now, we’re coming in.” He shouted through the door, adding under his breath “I ain’t waiting for a warrant anyway”. Nick rolled his eyes, paused to check the direction of the door’s hinges and then stepped back. He lifted his boot and planted one forceful kick above the handle of the door, splintering soft wood and breaking the door wide open.

“You do that like it’s takes about as much effort as tearing a napkin, man.” Daryl marvelled almost enviously, but Nick wasn’t ready to joke about how strong he was. The smell of blood hit him like a brick wall and it was nauseating. While Daryl hadn’t picked up anything, Nick had to cover his mouth with his sleeve and hope that the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent could at least take the edge off.  
“That’s a _lot_ of blood.” He choked, taking a reluctant breath before drawing his gun and following Daryl’s lead into the apartment.  
“We’re coming in, step forward with your hands up!” Daryl shouted into the messy lounge. Both of them knew if the smell was that bad, whoever was in here was either long dead, or had fled with serious injuries. But rules is rules, and it was better to call out to nobody than silently sneak up on (and spook) somebody dangerous. They cleared every doorway and Daryl let Nick follow his nose into a bedroom across from the apartment’s entrance.

The scene was grim, but not one Nick was surprised by any more. He’d seen dead men long before joining the force, but Nick’s nature was not one that was tough to the core. Under his straight face and by-the-book reactions to this shit, he was hurt and upset. And maybe a little spooked.

A blond-haired man was sat on the floor, slumped against his bed with his chin to his chest. Three bullet wounds dotted his abdomen, dark in colour against the bright red of a shirt that had previously been white. Blood had formed a huge, clotted puddle of gore beneath the body and as Nick stooped to investigate further, he saw that the man’s throat had been slit too. To top it off, the guy’s jaw was dislocated or broken, torn on one side with the force used to hit him. Talk about overkill. He had a mermaid’s eyes and Nick realised this must be Red. The colour of Red’s sclera had darkened and faded from blue to a cloudy grey, looking so very dead compared to what Nick remembered of Ginger and Cindi’s bright blue eyes. Nick eventually brought his hand to the dead man’s neck and predictably found no pulse under cold, waxy skin.

“He’s been shot.” Nick called out to Daryl, who appeared in the doorway with a grimace. “Been dead a while, overnight at least. Three shots to the chest, throat slit...who knows which came first.”  
“I found his wallet, looks like this is Red.” Daryl stepped in and handed a driver’s license to Nick. The photo on it looked exactly like this poor fucker. This _was_ Red. “Dibs on not breaking the news to his angry redheaded friend if we have to go back there. I’m gonna call this in.” Daryl found his radio, turning to walk back into the lounge and call in the body. Two dead mermaids in as many days did not feel right but as Nick followed his partner out into the living room, he stared to connect the dots. The TV was gone and a pile of leads suggested a gaming system had been taken too. As Daryl replaced his radio at his belt, Nick peered into the kitchen. A window was smashed.

“No ones gonna remember hearing gunshots in this part of town, let alone tell the cops about it. This was a robbery, wasn’t it? This is a burglary gone bad.” Nick said, frowning to himself as the words formed. Something about that didn’t feel right. It was the same feeling he had as a teenager when, naive as he was, Nick fell for it when girls asked him out on a date for a joke. It was that nasty feeling of being taken advantage of but Nick had no clue what was causing it. “This was all just a robbery gone bad.” He repeated, testing the words. Still didn’t feel right. Why?  
“That’s for someone on a better salary than us to worry about, man. Let’s get out before we step in some evidence or...something.” Daryl could smell the death in the air now too, and clearly would prefer to be a little further away from the source. “I have never missed busting assholes for guns and dope more than today.” He grumbled as they both edged out of the apartment door, waiting in the hallway until backup, forensics and (maybe this time, anyway) homicide arrived.  
“You think whoever robbed this place took the girl?” Nick pressed, leaning against a wall and immediately regretting it when he realised he couldn’t tell if the wood was cold or damp.  
“Guess so. Her suitcase is in there all opened up and rifled through, maybe they took her for ransom. Or maybe they killed her on accident and panicked, took her away and dumped her a few blocks away. We can’t know.”  
“Why only try to hide the _kid’s_ body?”  
“Who knows, man. A dead dude and a dead kid probably feel different even to a scumbag with a gun. We know dealers who wouldn’t dare use kids to move their product, y’know?”  
“I guess. Doesn’t mean they’ll catch the guy any easier.” Nick was starting to work out why he felt uneasy.  
“I know it doesn’t sit well with you Nick. They could have all the evidence in the world and do nothing. But a closed case with an explanation and an unknown killer is better than nothing. It gives the family some closure.”  
“Yeah, closure.” Nick looked away and tried to tell himself that the stolen goods might be traceable, that there might be forensic evidence, or that someone in the building might be willing to talk if they knew a little girl was killed. “I’m gonna go get the police tape outta the car.” He sighed, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve as he stomped off down the hall.

* * *

 

After a silent and solemn drive back to the station, Nick and Daryl were thankfully back on normal patrols once their notes and statements were passed over to homicide. Nick made sure to give them the Moreau sisters’ contact details too, and then met Daryl back at the SUV.  
“You thinkin’ about anything for lunch?” Daryl asked, squinting at his partner instead of putting his sunglasses on. They were right there in his breast pocket, why didn’t he put them on?  
“Not really hungry.” Nick bit his tongue and shrugged, peeling his sleeve back to peek at his wristwatch. “It’s only 11am! You gotta start eating breakfast, Ward. Slow-releasing carbs, that’s what you need.”  
“All I need in the morning is coffee, my man.” Daryl insisted as he slid into the passenger seat, checking his phone.

Nick adjusted his own seat (why was there always someone taller than him driving an SUV before he did?) and gave Daryl a _look_. Without his sunglasses on it was hard for Daryl to pretend he hadn’t noticed. “What?”  
“You think they’re right?”  
“The mermaids? Are you still on this?”  
“Yeah. About nothing getting done.”  
“Man, I don’t know!” Daryl huffed, throwing his head back as his partner eased the SUV out of its parking spot. “I’m a street cop, always have been. I don’t mess with investigations. _We_ don’t mess with investigations. We show up, we make arrests, we take statements.”  
“We did a lot more’n that when we found a fucking wand, Ward.”  
“That was different. I _tried_ to follow procedure with that. We both know how well that worked out.”  
“Yeah...” Jakoby fell silent for a good minute or so, watching the car in front of them drive as if they were on their learner’s exam. Nerves, probably. “I just...I’m gonna say it. I gotta say it; any time an orc child goes missing or dies, it doesn’t go anywhere. Doesn’t matter how much evidence they have. You know that and I know that. But when a human kid gets hurt? A _white_ human kid? Or an elf? It’s all the cops care about. They all care.”  
“Everyone cares more about their own kind, Nick. That’s how it is.”  
“And that’s why I became a cop! To make a difference; to try and stop this stuff from happening; to be there to care about marginalised races. But now I’m here, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. I could have a hundred medals but I’m still an _orc_ street cop. I can’t do or say anything to get some poor dead kid and her family some justice or closure beyond ‘maybe a burglar did it’. Can’t make a difference and it’s fuckin’ frustrating.”  
“Nick, you _are_ making a difference. Didn’t you hear that recruiter the other day, bitching and moaning about how many orcs have applied to the academy this year? Two got in! That’s on you.”  
“I know, I know.”

Nick turned his head away to look down the street he was turning down. He hadn’t heard the recruiter, and in fact this was the first time he’d heard anything about academy numbers. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would follow in his footsteps like that. That was a nice thought that made his stomach flip and his eyes water enough for him to continue staring at the road with his head tipped to one side. “I just wish I could make a difference right now.”  
“You are, you will. We just keep doing what we do and things will change. Maybe you follow up with homicide, out of curiosity y’know? Only, you check in pretty often and mention a few Fogteeth boys on the street are curious too. Just...” Daryl screwed his face up, miming a sliding motion with his hand. “... _ease_ the pressure on ‘em a lil bit without makin’ yourself the enemy. But don’t get too involved in this; it’s a homicide, not a dead kid. If you make every case personal-”  
“You make your job impossible, yeah.” Nick sighed, relaxing his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “Thanks, Ward.”  
“No problem. Now, I’ll ask you a second time but I’m not askin’ you a third time so hurry up and think with your big orc gut for once instead of your lil’ orc brain - _what are you thinkin’ for lunch_?”


	5. Chapter 5

Nick’s apartment was so cold at night, no matter what time of year it was. Poorly insulated brick buildings just didn’t hold the heat and and after today the last thing Nick wanted to do was sit shivering in his sweatpants while the apartment’s crappy heating system kicked in. That was inevitably going to be tonight’s plan though, and as soon as he had changed out of his uniform Nick made a hot drink to warm himself up. While it steeped, he rifled through cupboards to find something to cook. Nothing. There was the culinary equivalent of nothing here and Nick remembered with a grumble that he was supposed to go grocery shopping after work. Great. Glancing at his watch, Nick decided that he had no patience to wander around a Walmart or even do some gardening at nine in the evening, so tonight was a rare fast food night. He changed (again) into less homely sweats and a hoodie, pausing at the mirror to inspect an old bloodstain on his shirt that he hadn’t realised was there. Whatever, it’d wash out eventually.

The streets were as lively and bright as ever while Nick walked them, enjoying momentary anonymity as he passed other orcs who didn’t give him enough of a glance to realise that he was _that_ cop _._  It put a little bit of that signature spring in his step as he marched along, avoiding puddles from an earlier rainfall. The closest fast food joint was just a few blocks away but by the time Jakoby reached it he was aware of eyes on him again. They were all Fogteeth men, who never seemed to know if they should treat him like a brother or not now that he was blooded. Nick was in some weird purgatory that (at least right now) somehow felt worse than being outright rejected by them. Thankfully the restaurant was quiet when he got there, and rather than walk home and eat his meal lukewarm, Nick decided he’d sit in.

The girl behind the register was an orc, and she looked thoroughly displeased with having to serve anyone at all. He didn’t blame her at this hour.  
“Can I get a chicken sandwich, large fries and a-” Nick glanced at a poster on the wall advertising ice cream but before he could even start forming the word, the girl cut him off.  
“Ice cream machine’s broken. I can do you a milkshake though.”  
“No, I’ll just get a large coke.” Nick shrugged, reluctantly lowering his hood. Thankfully her expression didn’t become any more contemptuous than before and he risked a smile as he dug his wallet out.

Nick handed his money over and watched the girl’s eyes wander away from him as she tendered his change. Someone had caught her attention and Nick tried to ignore it - and did so successfully - until he had his bagged food in hand and turned around. Across the small tiled restaurant floor stood Dorghu and two of his men, grinning as they took up far more floorspace than necessary with their wide stances and crossed arms. They’d placed themselves in front of a booth, blocking it off and keeping it for themselves evidently. 

“Jakoby, I ain’t seen you in a while. How’re things?” Dorghu flashed his teeth in a smug grin as he flicked his head back to beckon the smaller orc over. Nick reluctantly approached, sitting in the booth that the Fogteeth had ‘reserved’. Dorghu had already eased himself down onto one of the tired seats with his view to the restaurant door, forcing Jakoby to sit with his back to it. Not exactly comforting.  
“What d’you want?” Nick mumbled, placing his bagged food aside to wring his hands.  
“Aw, come on! I find you with good intentions brother, I promise. You’re a blooded orc, things are different now.”  
“Yeah, water under the bridge.” Nick said on a heavy exhale, watching his tone and being careful not to sound _too_ sarcastic lest he set off the gang leader’s sensitive temper. It seemed that Dorghu had some patience for Nick’s cagey demeanour and intended to continue with his friendly schtick.

“Man, I get it. We ain’t friends. I’m not here to gossip about the wife and kids with you. Nah, I’m here because one of my guys got arrested yesterday. Petty theft of a woman’s purse. You know who I’m talking about?”  
“I arrest a lot of guys for petty theft.” Jakoby shrugged, genuinely lost for an answer.  
“Tripped over a dead kid just before you cuffed him.”  
“Oh.” Nick deflated slightly. Of course this had to be about the dead child. “You gotta know I can’t _not_ arrest people I see committing a crime.”  
“I know, I know. And even if I wanted that, I still owe you one for not letting Mikey get caught up in that cop shooting.” Dorghu settled back in his seat and was visibly grinding his teeth for a moment. “My boy would be dead if you hadn’t let him get away. And by the sounds of it, you let yesterday’s guy go too.”  
“No, _no_ \- the woman didn’t want to press charges and- I didn’t-” the thought of anyone thinking Nick was bias to Fogteeth now made him panic; the accusations were bad enough when he was an outcast let alone now that he was actually blooded by one.  
“Jakoby, stop twitchin’ your ears and listen to me. _You did us another favour. You helped the clan_.” Dorghu said with a slow twirl of his fat, ring-laden hand, making it clear that he was trying to lead the other orc somewhere. “So...let the clan do you a favour too, yeah?”  
“What kind of favour?”  
“My man Wolfgang here,” the leader motioned to one of his bodyguards. “His sister saw you in a mermaid-run salon today, asking questions. And word is that the kid found yesterday was a mermaid.”  
“Siren, but yeah...”  
“Let me do you a favour then, Jakoby; let me give you a _tip_.” Dorghu leaned forward and brandished a finger theatrically. “Elves.”  
“Elves?”  
“Mermaids are cattle to them; at least, they used to be. The body is meat to them. Eyes are especially valuable because of the whole...hypnotism thing. They whore them out too, at least overseas where young girls don’t have any other choice.”  
“You think elves killed that girl?”  
“I dunno.” Dorghu sat back again, the leather seat creaking beneath his weight. “But its a better lead than nothin’ and I, personally, wouldn’t trust an elf as far as I could throw ‘em anyway.”

Nick sat back too, narrowing his eyes at the other man. He pouted, mulling over his words carefully before speaking.  
“Why’re you helping on this?”  
“It doesn’t help the community for mermaids to start dying off. You know we have good ties with them; _I_ had good ties with them back in Miami. The girls that run the salon you were in, did they know the victim?”  
“I can’t blab to you about cases like humans do, you know that. It looks bad.”  
“I get it, man. Hope you find who did it. Kids aren’t fair game in my city.”  
“Why don’t you go hunt the killer down yourself and _shoot them_?” Nick asked, raising a hairless brow. His tone was less restrained and he took his time saying it.  
“Ooooh, he still don’t like me!” Dorghu laughed obnoxiously as he announced this to his two men. “Hah! It’s okay man, I get that you’re still sour. Just...keep that tip in mind.”  
“I’ll look out for mermaid on the menu in elf district.” Nick muttered as Dorghu stood and slapped a hand to Jakoby’s shoulder, shaking it a roughly.  
“Happy policing, Jakoby.”

And with that, Nick was alone with this (thankfully still warm) food. He’d barely ripped opened the paper bag when he spotted another figure approaching him. Luckily before he said anything he realised it wasn’t Dorghu or one of his bulldogs. It was the redheaded woman from the salon, Ginger. She held a tray in one hand with a half-eaten meal and two ice creams still in their paper tubs. She placed one of the ice creams down and wordlessly slid it over to Nick as he sat slumped on his elbows against the table.  
“Ice cream machine isn’t broken if you know the cashier well enough.” She attempted a smile, and picked up on Nick’s apprehension. “I was two places behind you in the line, recognised you by, uh...I recognised you anyway. Would’ve come over earlier but you had company.” She swallowed, glancing down at her boots. She wasn’t dressed for the weather in just jeans and a turtleneck, but maybe mermaids ran warmer than orcs.  
“Thanks...” Nick muttered as he stared at the ice cream.

“I’m sorry if I’m botherin’ you but I need to apologise for how I spoke to you earlier today.” Ginger’s voice cracked as she spoke and when Nick looked up, he found her practically bending the edges of her tray with a white-knuckle grip.  
“N-no, look, it’s fine.”  
“It’s not, I was rude and grief ain’t an excuse. You’re probably the one cop in LA who would care about Millie and I was outta line accusing you of otherwise.” Her expression was steely but she forced another smile as Nick looked up at her face. “Plus, I know _you_ do your job because the cops called us about Red earlier. I’m guessing you got our details on a contact form or something, like you said you would.” She persisted with the smile and Nick smiled back (albeit weakly) as she spoke, then gestured to the spot Dorghu had occupied opposite him earlier.  
“You wanna sit down?”  
“Thank you.” Ginger put her tray down and sat, looking Nick up and down for a moment. When she moved to sit, he’d noticed her smell even over all the fryer oil and food in the restaurant. She smelled like cherries, vanilla and bubblegum. “Were you, um...on duty when that boy got shot a while back?”  
“The orc kid?”  
“Yeah. His name was Thomas, wasn’t it?”  
“Thomas Maleki. I wasn’t on duty but I was nearby. Got called in to help with crowd control which was...difficult to do out of uniform. Half the officers there didn’t recognise me or want me to help.”  
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She sighed, appearing to forget about her meal.  
“The whole situation seemed kinda cruel. The way they handled it even immediately afterwards. I...” Nick trailed off and huffed; Ginger respected that and paused to think of a way to steer the subject away from whatever way upsetting him.

“I think I’ve been jaded since moving to LA, you know? You see cops mistreating non-humans every day. I get profiled monthly _at least_ , and I’ve got it easy compared to some.”  
“What d’you get profiled for?” Nick asked, giving up on politeness and opening his fries to start eating while Ginger answered. She didn’t seem to mind.  
“They think we all hypnotise people. I was witness to a gas station robbery a few months back and the cops suggested I’d hypnotised the cashier into handing the money over and was working with the robber.”  
“Well _shit_ , that’s a pretty creative ploy.” Nick snorted.  
“I know! I wish I’d thought of that before the cops.” Ginger laughed, genuinely. It looked different in her face compared to those fake smiles just moments ago; this time, the corners of her eyes crinkled and the blue in them seemed to light up. Like, _really_ light up as if she were bioluminescent. “You know the funniest part? I can’t hypnotise. I don’t know any mermaid that can! We’re losing the trait as we evolve because we don’t need it.”  
“Yeah, they actually covered that in a diversity training seminar I went to. Something like only eight percent of all mermaids can hypnotise at will.”  
“It’s probably closer to six. Only times I’ve heard of it happening were in near-death situations. That part of our brain just wakes up and tries to save itself by hypnotising anyone who might be the threat. You hear stories of kids on highways about to get hit by trucks and the dashcams capture the kids’ hypnotism kicking in unconsciously. It just reacts to a threat. And it’s a serious load on the brain - sure as shit not worth it to rob a gas station. But still, no one wants to make eye contact with a mermaid, except you and a few other orcs. I’d hazard a guess you’ve had worse assumptions made about you though, right?” Ginger shook her head in disbelief and Nick sat silent for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. He’d watched her hands gesturing as she spoke, and thought about the wooden bangles worn over her tight sleeves and how they clanked together like wind chimes. It was oddly soothing in this noisy place.

For some reason, Nick decided he wanted a conversation as much as she did right now; maybe the bad mood was riding itself out. He paused further to finish his mouthful of food and brushed his hands together to clean the salt off them.  
“When I was twelve, I had cops talking to me about a robbery that had happened nearby. I was wearing a green t-shirt, right? So was the fully grown adult orc that had robbed someone. They wanted to bring me in for questioning. Took a stranger to point out to the cops that I was a kid and two feet shorter than their suspect. They still argued for a while after that. I was two feet shorter than the guy!” Nick found himself laughing as he spoke. Ginger’s eyes darted over his face as he stopped, resting on his eyes. She didn’t seem used to people making eye contact with her.  
“Maybe you’d robbed someone on stilts?” She gave that infectious laugh again and picked at her own meal, falling silent for a moment. “It was never like that in Florida. I lived in a shell-town so mermaids were on the top of the food chain there. It’s different outside of that bubble - even in Miami, orcs were the majority. But our groups looked out for each other and were strong enough to make a difference. Here, it’s all fractured or gang-based. You’re the only one making a difference, what with joining the force.”  
“I’ve wanted to be a cop since before I even knew what discrimination was, honestly.” Nick shrugged. “Perk of the job is seeing how creative people get now. You ever get those weird, racist remarks that are just too ridiculous to be hurtful? I get _pigface_ or _pigskin_ all the time but some of them are just funny. A woman on a domestic disturbance once called me a _squat little mottled toad_ which is...an image.”  
“I like that she specified your colour scheme.” Ginger snickered behind a predictably well-manicured hand.  
“You gotta be specific when you’re being racist.” Nick said in mock sincerity, breaking eye contact with her to find his drink.  
“What was your response? How do you even respond to being called a _toad?!_ ”  
“I just ignored it at the time, not much else I can do when I’m on the job.”  
“True. I’ve been called _Medusa_ before. A guy I know from Miami used to call me Ariel or _The Little Mermaid_ which totally didn’t get old after three years.”  
“You’re lucky it’s just one guy. We’re not that creative, as a gender.”  
“Maybe I should count my blessings. Better than being called a toad.” Ginger snickered, briefly glancing down at her phone as it buzzed. “It’s just a shame anyone is that rude to you just because you’re an orc. Sucks that you’re such a lone wolf and treated so badly for it.”  
“You just have to give it time.” Nick half-shrugged, watching Ginger check her phone again.

“I should go, Cindi’s home alone and getting herself worked up again. We can’t get ahold of Millie’s parents.” Ginger gathered the last few scraps of her meal into the paper bag and stood up with her melting tub of ice cream in one hand. “It was nice talking to you. I should’ve been nicer to you from the start.”  
“Don’t worry about it, you’ve got more important things to think about than manners.” Nick held a hand up to wave the issue away, but paused as a thought occurred to him. “Have her parents been reported missing?”  
“I don’t know, they might not have been AWOL long enough for a report, and mermaids tend to go off the grid a lot anyway.”  
“If they’re unresponsive long enough to report as missing, do it. Parents going missing while their daughter is killed across different states? That’s federal. We’d call the feds in, and federal cases are under way more pressure to get solved. Plus it might rope in mermaid-friendly cops from your home turf who could put pressure on the feds.”  
“You’re a genius.” Ginger beamed, her eyes twinkling. He might’ve made her cry judging by the shake that had returned to her voice.  
“Even toads have brains.” Nick tapped his skull jokingly and Ginger laughed.  
“Very true. Thank you, officer.”  
“Nick. I’m not on the case any more, it was just statement gathering. You can call me Nick.” He smiled up at her as she dabbed the corners of her eyes with her fingers, blinking back those persistent tears. Part of him felt that that might’ve been too forward of him, or unprofessional somehow. But he couldn't un-say it now, so might as well roll with it.

“Well then thank you, _Nick_. Have a good night.” As Ginger walked past she ghosted the tips of her fingers over his shoulder, touching the same one Dorghu had roughly smacked earlier. It struck Nick that maybe she’d forgotten herself for a brief a moment before coming to her senses and withdrawing her hand. It shouldn’t have mattered; diversity training stressed how ‘touch focused’ mermaids were (and how to de-escalate situations without touching them or reacting negatively to their attempts to touch you). He imagined a hand on the shoulder to be the least of a mermaid’s habits and paused only as he realised the smell of her perfume now lingered in the air right by his face. Cherries, bubblegum and vanilla.

With that, she was gone, walking out of the store and briskly down the street. Nick found himself staring over his shoulder in the direction she’d walked for a little too long, and as he turned back to his meal he mouthed one word: s _hit._ Had he just fallen for some mermaid glamour? No, that was a stereotype. They were both just complaining about that a few minutes ago for fuck’s sake. Maybe Nick really was just so starved for positive attention that he put too much value in it when it happened. Ginger was one of the few people in this city who was willing to just have a conversation with him; to talk and laugh and not (even unconsciously) treat him as if he was beneath her. Even Ward hadn’t fully mastered that yet. It should be nothing special, but it was rare enough to make Nick’s stomach flip when he thought about it.

_Shit._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is heavily headcanon based. If we get canon info on Kandomere’s background, expect a rewrite!

As a child, Kandomere was spoiled when it came to allowance and money. As was typical for an elf, there were no paper rounds or weekend jobs for him and the disconnect between himself and his human colleagues was jarring when they talked about it. Even Montehugh idly reminisced over coffee about summers spent working in his grandfather’s corner store. Others talked about shovelling snow in the winter, washing cars in the summer, babysitting or even municipal work. One man wore his gruelling teenage job as a janitor like a badge of honour.

Kandomere had been given cash whenever he wanted it as a child; had everything paid for; was given a credit card to his mother’s account when he turned eighteen. When his (already financed) schooling finished he was given work in his father’s company managing staff. Kandomere had been twenty-one years old sitting in a senior position, managing a workforce of humans who were double his age. That was where elves were supposed to be, apparently; alongside other elves and above above humans. It was barely work and he was frequently strongarmed into ‘business meetings’ with his father. He was training to be a CEO just like his father, with the ‘humbling’ experience of working a management position for a few years first. None of it had fulfilled Kandomere and as loyal as he was to his people and their ways...it just wasn’t him. He was not content with sitting around in passive comfort. Elves were not built on that and they would not maintain their success if they did nothing more than vegetate at the top. All his life Kandomere had been told that elves were a great race of people, and he felt no greatness in his silver spoon and gifted employment.

When Kandomere was just twenty-three, his displeasure with the status-quo seeped through the cracks in elven society and spilled down to the dank corners occupied by Leilah. She came to him and offered him power beyond the political or financial strength he was born into. Magic. _The Dark Lord_. None of it fooled Kandomere and he remained unsatisfied with the options laid before him. In fact, he became jaded. Magic was revoltingly dangerous when unregulated and Leilah of all people should not have access to that power. A second coming of the Dark Lord would topple elven culture and destroy too many innocent lives just to benefit a select few elite. Kandomere knew what was best for elvenkind and it was not inferni.

This anti-magic mindset became an open declaration and Kandomere was soon headhunted by federal agents for a specialist unit that tracked and dealt with magic. His education and background made recruitment easy and he was an agent by twenty-four, but he could only rise through the ranks on his own merit now. And rise, he did. Still Kandomere was not at the top; not in charge. He was a leading member of the magic task force but he answered to countless officials above him. Kandomere preferred that, and felt part of something greater than himself (a mindset rare in elves). The ultimate goal, in his mind, was restricting magic and stopping Leilah. Surveillance watched her grow and recruit, and she evaded him at every turn for so many years that it became personal to the agent. Every death caused by her began to carry a personal pain.

Where had hard work and rebellious morals brought Kandomere, though? Twenty years later he was still in an office, filling out paperwork, paid a fortune for very little skill (in his mind). The only difference was that he no longer answered to his father. No, now Kandomere answered to humans. He worked for the public. It was in the best interest of humans for magic to be monitored and snuffed out wherever possible lest they be the ones wiped out by it, so of course they ran that branch of the bureau. He headed the magic task force but there were plenty of humans at the top, approving his decisions.

It wasn’t a life his parents approved of and many of his peers called him a race traitor. Working with and _for_ humans was seen as below him, and a failure to uphold elven moral standards. Elves did not work for humans; did not work for the public, and Kandomere had had to accept this when he chose to pursue Leilah and her kin. Far from feeling ashamed of his status, Kandomere chose to own it. He insisted that he be partnered with humans throughout his career; that partnering with elves meant their unique knowledge of magic wasn’t effectively shared amongst the team. Of course he remained in elf town, in exclusive lodging. The comfort and solitude afforded to him at home was a rare and welcome rest he was not willing to throw away.

Inferni had always been the main target of the magic task force but there were smaller cases that came by weekly or monthly that Kandomere was lead on too. Just tonight they had arrested someone attempting to sell tinctures; sealed little bottles of blessed potions, possibly from before the time of the Dark Lord. They were historical artefacts, incredibly dangerous and wholly illegal to sell. Kandomere had another arrest under his belt and the items would be donated to a museum in some publicity stunt involving the board director. It was now Kandomere’s job to sit in his private office and fill out paperwork for the tinctures, make statements about the arrest and confiscation, and advise what the public would be told about the three people who’d been killed by drinking from the tinctures. Magic corrupted and changed even the most harmless potion when sealed for so many centuries.

Other paperwork had piled up while he was out in the field, including mail addressed directly to him and several new case propositions for him to look at. Right now Kandomere did feel jealous of the people he went to school with who were barely working nine to five (and pulling much larger salaries). He was known around the office for working through the night without complaint and you’d find him in his office the next morning, his suit still pressed, hair still immaculate, smelling as if he were fresh out of the shower. Some people doubted he actually worked all-nighters while others whispered about how vain elves were. And maybe he _was_ vain. Maybe the frantic half hour he’d spend in the bathroom at four AM with a comb and dry shampoo, carefully brushing and styling his hair so it would look fresh and clean, was vanity alone. Maybe the cologne he misted himself with at sunrise and the spare suit jacket he kept behind his office door was all for show. But when Kandomere stood in that brightly lit, clinical bathroom washing his face with hand soap and drying it with a handkerchief, he’d stare at the dark circles under his eyes and tell himself appearances mattered. If your boss looked dishevelled and smelled like an all-nighter twice a week, you’d start doubting him. You’d start thinking him overworked and incapable, and the people who called him vain would be the first to doubt him if he became lax about his appearance. The dark circles were all he allowed to remain as evidence of his exhausting workload. He hoped one day he’d look at them in the mirror and decide to get some more sleep, but it was rare that he had a night that allowed it. 

Tonight was no different; and at only eleven PM Kandomere expected to work until sunrise if he was to catch up on paperwork. If he could get ahead of schedule he might risk a short sleep on the leather sofa in his office but if it came too close to office hours, Kandomere wouldn’t dare. For some reason he dreaded a subordinate catching him sprawled out and sleeping. Montehugh had done it once and still occasionally joked about it - humans loved their lighthearted digs. Kandomere did not.

Signing off on the last sheet of paper for his current file, Kandomere paused to take a sip of his vending machine coffee (decanted into his own mug) and turned his muted glare to the pile of envelopes stacked at the top of his ‘in’ tray. All but one of them bore federal stamps and the odd-one-out piqued his interest. It was a plain manila envelope with his name written by hand. The envelope was too light to hold a full sheet of paper and he sliced the top with a personalised letter opener. Out of the envelope fell a single card, and Kandomere turned it over to read the only printed side.

 _Blackmoore_  
_808 Dogwood st._

The street was not one he knew, but the name Blackmoore was...familiar. Kandomere turned the card over between his fingers, staring at the back of his office door with a glare pulling his heavy brow down. Eventually he rose to his feet and opened a locked filing cabinet perched against the wall. While searching through various files under _B_ , Kandomere felt disturbed. He’d absolutely heard of Blackmoore before, and he did not like this theatrical, foreboding message.

Upon finding the file, Kandomere was disappointed to see that it was sparse at best. He recognised the photo in the file before the name finally came back to him. Easing himself back into his seat, he combed through every line of text in the file, hunched over his desk now. 

Tobias Blackmoore, a pale-haired elf who could not even hold his head straight for his mugshot, cocking it slightly to the side in some pathetic attempt at rebellion. At his arrest two years ago he was just twenty three, and had been caught at the head of an operation to traffic brezzik women from overseas. Some of them had been as young as twelve, forced to work in clubs and brothels. It fell into magic task force jurisdiction because the same kind of tinctures seized tonight had been used on these women to make them compliant. Different base potion, but same end. The memory made Kandomere’s upper lip curl and his disdain intensified as he noted that Blackmoore received just five years for the crime. Money talks evidently, as his non-elven henchmen received twelve or more years. Blackmoore was the bastard of a publishing giant and likely had his fines and fees paid for him, and now lounged in a prison _for_ elves, run _by_ elves. Since his crimes had been again other races, it was unlikely he was treated poorly or lacking in the resources to contact federal agents directly.

Kandomere felt there were several potential scenarios here; too many for him to feel comfortable in tackling this head-on. He turned the card over in his hands and lifted it to his face, smelling the thick embossed paper. A nauseating mix of perfume and sulphur met his senses and he placed the card down with a grimace, retrieving his phone from his pocket to make a call. He wasn’t going to humour this contact with his direct attendance just yet, but he was still going to gather intel on the location, its current function and any of its ties to Blackmoore. Luckily, as he’d been used to doing all his life, Kandomere could defer that job onto someone else.

Maybe this was a taunt from a criminal knowing his parole was coming soon. Maybe it was a prank. Or maybe this was something far more sinister. Regardless, Kandomere felt unsettled enough to take this seriously and find out exactly who had sent this card to him, and who (or what) was at 808 Dogwood.

One thing was for sure: tonight’s tincure haul and every other one like it for the past two years would need to be looked at. This was undoubtedly going to be a sleepless night. 


	7. Chapter 7

For ten days, Nick had been carrying on as usual. Every few days he’d poke his head into the detective’s office and casually ask how the Durand case was going. Never pushing, always just ‘curious’. The detective assigned to the case apparently got an ego boost out of explaining the basics to the LAPD’s token hire and Nick played along with the ‘idiot rookie cop’ role he’d been given because it got him somewhere. Unfortunately there were rarely tangible updates that the detective was willing to share but hopefully he was keeping that little girl in their minds enough to push them to go the extra mile. A casual grumble from Nick about how even Fogteeth men were asking about the girl seemed to add fuel to the fire he was lighting under them and Nick felt like he might be taking baby steps towards progress.

Daily rounds were as they always were - hours of small petty crimes followed by way too much paperwork. They’d made two arrests already and were back out on patrol. Nick had been quiet recently and he knew Daryl had picked up on it. In fact, he’d picked up on it enough to let it get to _him_.  
“Man, you’ve been _off_ recently. For a good week. You don’t even text me your stupid little garden updates on your days off like you normally do. What’s up?”  
“My garden isn’t producing much at the moment. Not this week, anyway.” Nick shrugged, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the road.  
“Since when did that stop you? Come on, something’s up.”  
“Nothing’s up, Ward. I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping much.” He lied.  
“Nope, _nope_. Don’t lie to me, man. When you’re tired, you get cranky. You correct me on shit no one but you cares about. You don’t get quiet when you’re tired.” Daryl waved his hands furiously as he spoke, and Nick was inwardly touched that his partner knew so much about his moods. Even long-term girlfriends hadn’t noticed that much about him.  
“Okay, I’m not tired.” Nick admitted, huffing. He paused to choose his words wisely. “You know when we went to talk to those mermaid women, and found that other guy’s body?”  
“Yeah. You still upset about that shit?”  
“No.” Nick lied. “It’s just that night, I was out, eating at a fast food joint.”  
“No way you eat fast food, but continue.” Daryl sat back in his seat, dropping his sunglasses down over his eyes.  
“...well, I was. And I got a...visit. From Dorghu. As in, the guy who shot me.”  
“I am familiar with the gentleman, yes. What he talk to you about?”  
“Just stuff with the mermaids. He knows more about then from living in Miami. But it isn’t _what_ he said that bothers me. It’s that he sat down and acted like we’re friends because he blooded me. Like the slate’s wiped clean. Like it undoes all the shit he and every other orc put me through over the years.”  
“I get it, Nick. You’re havin’ a like...new identity crisis. You spend all those years being the underdog and you don’t get how you can be one of ‘em now.”  
“I don’t wanna be one of them. I like who I am.”  
“Good! Good. You can’t be seen as their friend. That’s not good for you, that won’t make your life easy.”  
“It just pisses me off that he talks like it’s okay now. He _killed_ me.”  
“He shot you, chill out.” Daryl lifted his sunglasses and rolled his eyes. “You gotta rise above it. Don’t let him piss you off. You wasted more than a week feeling pissed off about this already.”  
“I guess. I need to find something to keep me busy. I should try planting some tomatoes, I could probably fit them in my greenhouse.”  
“There he is. There’s my big dumb gardener.” Daryl teased, a smug grin on his face. 

Nick thought about bringing up how Ginger had visited too. He thought about it long enough to decide he’d sound too invested in a single conversation with a woman, and he chose to keep it to himself.  
“Did Sophia finish her science project in time?”  
“Barely. I finished a shift and had to spend six hours helping her finish it when I got off. Exhausting.”  
“Was is worth it?”  
“Yeah.” Daryl grinned wistfully. “Yeah, she was real proud of it. Best diorama at the fair, if you ask me.”

* * *

 

 

By the end of their shift, Nick was actually feeling a little brighter, at least in part due to the pep talk Daryl had given him. He waited for the locker room to empty and then went in to gather his things, staying in his uniform. Easier to change and shower at home, and he didn’t have to deal with others commenting on his body like a group of nasty high schoolers.

As he left the station via the main entrance, Nick could’ve sworn he heard his name being called.  
“Jakoby! Wait up.” A familiar face greeted him as he turned around to find the homicide detective assigned to the Durand case. “Glad I caught you, figured you’d want to know.” The detective held a file out, beaming. “We caught the guy that killed those mermaids.”  
“Millie. Millie and Red.” Nick said. If they weren’t going to remember the names, he would.  
“Yeah, we closed the case. Arrested him in the early morning, he confessed a few hours ago.”  
“You inform the parents yet?” Nick browsed the paperwork, reading photocopies of typed statements. The burglar was an orc who got into a fight with Red while trying to rob him, and claimed that he felt guilty after slitting the mermaid’s throat because it wasn’t killing him quick enough. So he shot him. Millie came home after the thief had finished loading belongings into a van. He said he hit her with a baseball bat and she fell, so he panicked, wrapped her in blankets and dumped her in an alley hoping it would look like a one-off. All the dots connected.

“Just called the kid’s mom. Was about to call her aunts too, since they’re family and you insisted on then being contacts too. Can you believe how dumb this guy was? Just dumped a body in an alley and hoped no one would link her to another dead mermaid a few blocks away.”  
“How’d you guys find him?” Nick handed the file back with a frown. Why didn’t this feel like good news?  
“The dead guy, Red? Kept a lot of serial numbers for all his expensive shit. I don’t blame him, living in the neighbourhood he did, it was only a matter of time before he got robbed. Anyway, we found his TV at a pawn shop. Our dumbass who sold it was caught on camera and he already had a record. Easy case.”  
“So he’s been charged with murder?”  
“Two counts, plus the sloppy burglary.”  
“That’s good, that’s good. I’m glad you got him, it’ll give the family some closure.”  
“Yeah. Anyway, I gotta go call those two, then I got a mountain of paperwork to do. Wish I could get one of you boys to do it honestly, I spend way too many days behind a desk.”  
“I could help you out, y’know. I’d like to get some experience with detective work. I get all my paperwork done on-the-day so I’ve got time. And-”  
“You wanna be a detective?!” The man snorted, placing his hands at his hips. “Boy, you just keep aiming higher. But sure, I could show you how the paperwork gets done over our side, give you some to do.”  
“Great, great.” Nick felt...good about that. Why settle for street cop? Nick had above-average scores in the academy (he wouldn’t have gotten in otherwise), he knew he could do it if he had the chance. Give it a few more years and he might have that chance, but getting experience and winning a detective over now wouldn’t hurt. There was one other thing he wanted to get out of this too.

“Would you mind if I went to go talk to the girl’s aunts? The two mermaids, I mean. It was me and Ward who went to interview them and they were pretty upset about the murder, might be nice for a familiar face to tell them the good news. Show ‘em that the force does make an effort with minority murders, y’know?”  
“Hell, it’ll save me another long phone call. Her parents were full of questions and by your own reports, those aunts weren’t hugely cooperative. Go ahead, you’ll save me an hour of screeching. Here, keep the file to read through, it’s just a copy.” He handed the Manila folder back to Nick and tittered to himself. Imagine finding a rookie willing to take on work like that. _Asking_ to take it on. “Good luck, buddy. Come by sometimes if you want to pick up some of that paperwork.”

The detective sauntered off in a fit of laughter, leaving a frustrated Nick standing alone in the hallway with a file grasped in his clammy hands. He pulled his phone out and copied a number from the file, making the call as he walked. It was hard to tell why this situation made his skin crawl; he should’ve been happy that this was solved. This was good news, and _he_ got to deliver it. He’d get to show Ginger that her faith was well-placed in the end. So why did his gut tell him that something was wrong?

The moment his call was picked up and Nick heard Ginger’s voice on the other end of the line, his heart lurched and he realised; nothing was wrong. Nothing was ‘off’.

He was just nervous.


End file.
